


I must turn my soul to stone, I must learn to live again—

by ifoamtowheataglitterofseas



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 10:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6980287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifoamtowheataglitterofseas/pseuds/ifoamtowheataglitterofseas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke and Bellamy are partners in the police force, hunting down key figures in the mob – until Bellamy is kidnapped, and Clarke is sure it is her fault. For weeks, she searches for him. In his recovery, they go to the 100 Food and Welfare Co-Op, run by Lincoln and Octavia, and meet a strange cast of hippies and farmers. Other love stories: Lincoln/Octavia, Miller/Monty.</p><p>Sort of cop drama meets hippie commune.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I must turn my soul to stone, I must learn to live again—

**Author's Note:**

> Please give me feedback, I'm just beginning. Also, it takes a while for Bellarke to have full on scenes together but be patient :)

Clarke is lost and angry and cold.

A few blocks over, Bellamy is running. He hears their footsteps in the alleyway behind him, and tries an unmarked door. It opens and he bolts inside, looking for cover.

It turns out to be a decrepit office building, covered in fluorescent lighting and grey carpeting. He ducks under a table on the second floor, wondering, where is Clarke? As he starts to leave, lights flash and a red dot centers on his chest. A booming voice sounds from outside the windows, “We’ve got you surrounded. Raise your hands. It’s over Bellamy.”

They descend and the world goes dark.

______________________

Clarke has been circling the blocks for hours. In search of Bellamy. In search of her partner. They had finally been closing in on a central figure of the mob — and had broken into the mob’s storage container, which stored records of their hit jobs — a central piece of evidence in their case.

But some patrolling mobster had caught them, and alerted the others — as they ran from the gunshots, Bellamy and Clarke were separated.

Because Clarke lacked spatial and directional sense, she often relied on Bellamy.

Without him, she feels as though adrift in a maze. She radios Raven and Monty, who are installed in a plumber van, for directions.

After a few botched attempts, they direct her to the alleyway Bellamy used — and she finds the broken door. She enters cautiously, gun and flashlight raised.

Clarke continues along the hallway, until she discovers the room on the second floor room, ransacked, the windows smashed, and the table overturned.

She carefully scans the room and finds Bellamy’s hat on the ground, covered in blood. She forgets to breathe — her chest squeezes shut.

She radios, “Raven, Monty, I think Bellamy’s been taken — and badly hurt.”

Clarke continues her detective work in the room, searching for clues that could reveal where Bellamy could have gone.

She calls in for backup, who begin to track tire tracks they believe to be from the mob’s van. After hours of searching through Arkadia’s streets, the unit has yet to find him.

Marcus Kane, head of the team, arrives, backed up by higher ranking officials.

Kane motions for Clarke. “So here we are.” She nods. “How could you have lost Bellamy?” Clarke shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

“Look, Bellamy’s smart, a capable agent. This isn’t the end, but we need to act quickly — it’s essentially a ticking clock.”

Clarke knows that Bellamy’s life is under immediate threat — and that it is her fault. She was the one who encouraged him — against his gut feeling — to break into the storage room that night.

The team gets to work, sending out cars in every direction, canvassing the area, searching for any trace of Bellamy.

_________________

Its dark, and it smells of rot. Bellamy slowly comes to, his head pounding, dizzy.

“How was your sleep, Bellamy?”

As Bellamy’s eyes open, he can only register the quick movement of an object, the thought of Clarke, as darkness arrives once more.

_________________

Weeks pass. Clarke doesn’t sleep or eat. She is consumed with the search for Bellamy. The mob has gone underground — their regular CIs don’t speak to them, the major members have vanished.

Raven begs her to stop for at least one night, to sleep, to eat, to take a break. But Clarke is stubborn and sleep deprived.

Clarke obsesses over the night, over their botched mission. Bellamy had a bad feeling, he told her, a couple days before. Clarke told him that he had a bad feeling about everything, and that he needn’t worry.

She remembers how Bellamy looked her in the eyes and said, “I trust you. Completely. With my life.” And how she looked back into his eyes and said in her most serious voice, “I trust you, Bellamy, with everything.” She remembers how he smiled and said, “Everything, princess?” And she just nodded.

Now, she can only think that she failed him.

Clarke misses him in unexpected ways: in the morning, thinking of how he would bring her coffee and tolerate her bad morning moods; in meetings with Kane, when they would give each other side glances at the same moment. Everywhere she saw Bellamy. And where he wasn’t. 

___________________

Kane calls them to the meeting room one Thursday morning — two weeks since Bellamy’s kidnapping.

“Some new information regarding the Blake case has come to my attention.” The unit goes quiet. He continues, “Monty was doing routine surveillance of a residential street the mob owns houses on — that they typically rent out to criminals — and he found a van parked outside a house that fits the description of the one that took Bellamy.”

Clarke’s mind wakes up.

“We suspect that whomever lives in the house may know where Bellamy is.”

At the end of the meeting, Clarke interrupts Kane in his discussion with Monty. “I will commence surveillance, sir. Understand who lives in that house, discover what they might know.” Her voice quakes with desperation. She knows he was most likely killed, but Clarke needs to know what happened, she wants to bury him.

“Clarke, I recognize how much you care, but you are not the best person for this case — first of all you look as though you haven’t slept in weeks, and you are far too emotionally involved. Too much guilt.”

“But—“

“No, Clarke. I’m passing this to Murphy — he’s got the right kind of cunning to do this right.”

“But could I please assist in some way? I will go wild if I can’t.”

“I’ll leave that up to Murphy.” Kane leaves abruptly and several aids follow. Monty gives her a pitying look that she despises.

Clarke can’t get over his words —“too emotionally involved.” He’s her partner, she thinks, of course she is involved. But emotionally involved?

Later, she finds Murphy in the back alley smoking a cigarette. “Hi there, Clark-ey, care to have a smoke?” She shakes her head. “I know why you’re here: you want to work on the case, and Marcus, in his generosity of spirit, passed off the decision to me. The answer is no.” He laughs.

Clarke charges at him, going for his throat. “You will let me work this case. You know how much I need to. I have to do this.”

Murphy only grins. “Fine, Clarke. But only if you obey all of my orders, and defer always to my authority.”

Clarke nods reluctantly. That smug bastard, she thinks.

After few days of surveillance, they learn that it is Carl Emerson who lives on 289 Arcadia Road, the house with the suspected van. He has been in and out of prison for a dozen years — associated with several local mobs, as some sort of go-between.

Murphy usually heads home before her, to his wife, Emori, and baby. He has a world outside of work, whereas Clarke devotes all moments of her waking and non-waking hours to Bellamy, and her job.

On late Friday night, with Murphy long home, Clarke wakes from a nap, startled by the noise of men in Emerson’s driveway — wearing all black with ski masks. They all get into the van, with Emerson as driver.

She follows them at a distance, all the way out of town into the woods.

She resists her usual urge to leave her boss out of it, but radios the unit for backup. Kane radios back, “Clarke, follow them, but do not get involved. I don’t want you risking this intelligence with some daring, ‘courageous,’ move.” She willingly consents. He instructs her to wait for backup.

They turn off onto a dirt road with a log cabin with smoke from a chimney. The men exit the van and enter the house. Clarke parks her car covertly, and sneaks onto the property.

She can hear men laughing and finds a window from which to look. The men, including Emerson, are crowded around a table, in what appears to be a tense argument. Some have taken off their ski masks so Clarke begins to piece together who they are — a few from Jaha’s mob, some from Emerson’s known associates.

They disappear from sight, and reappear minutes later with a bloodied, limp Bellamy gagged and tied, all climbing into their vehicles. Her heart stops, and she almost sobs before she can cup her mouth.

Kane radios, “Clarke: update.”

She whispers, “I see Bellamy, he appears to be non-responsive and badly wounded. Sir, it is essential we get him out as soon as possible.”

“Clarke, do I need to remind you of my direct order to stay out it?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. Then get back to work. A few other squad cars are on their way. You will have the backup soon to extradite him.”

“Yes, sir.”

The van and pickup truck make their way out of the woods, back to the highway. After an hour, they pull off to the docks at the city’s edge.

Clarke parks behind a storage container and watches. The men pull Bellamy out of the truck and push him against a metal fence, and turn their car lights onto him. He looks broken, hollow —not even able to register any stimulus.

Emerson pulls a gun out of his waistband and as he aims, Clarke draws her gun and shoots at his leg. He falls and the rest of the men search for the source of the gun. She fires more shots, at their legs, their arms.

She doesn’t want to kill.

One of the men she missed grabs Bellamy, puts a gun to his head, and pushes him into the cab of the truck, and speeds away.

Clarke gets back into her car and drives to catch up with Bellamy. The driver shoots his gun back at Clarke, yet she, with the advantage of pursuing from the behind, shoots both wheels and the car slows.

She hesitates, but gets out and aims her gun at the driver. But he is not in the front seat.

A hand clamps onto her neck. She feels his breath on her ear. “Fancy going for a ride?”

As he moves to push Clarke into the car, she bites his hand and exploits the surprise to turn and shoot him straight in the chest.

He looks at her in confusion, then falls to the ground.

Without pause, Clarke runs to the truck and hops into the driver’s seat. Bellamy is still unconscious, but breathing.

She steers away from the shoulder and to the hospital. She yells into the night air, “Bellamy, wake up! Bellamy! Can you hear me! Its me, Clarke.”

Bellamy’s eyelids flutter. She’s ten minutes from the hospital but doesn’t know how long Bellamy can go without medical attention. “Bellamy!”

He seems to hold on. She drives right up to the entrance of the emergency ward, jumps from the truck and runs inside. “Help! Someone, help!”

A few paramedics answer her call and help to bring Bellamy into the ward. They strap him onto a stretcher and whisk him away. Clarke runs alongside them, until a nurse forbids her from going any further.

All she can do is wait. A doctor comes and tells her that his condition is critical and they are doing everything they can, but Clarke barely registers his words.

Kane radios for an update. “Clarke, come in, Clarke. I need you to answer me now. We’re all at the docks. What happened?”

Finally, Clarke whispers into her radio, “Hospital. Bellamy. Bad.”

“Clarke! What do you mean?”

“Sir…”

Then the world goes quiet.

Clarke wakes up to a forceful nurse shaking her. “Wakey wakey.” Clarke looks at her like a lost child. The nurse explains, “You’ve fainted. You’ve been out for about five minutes. I suggest you get some food, water, have a bit of a rest.”

As Clarke slumps further in her chair, Kane bursts into emergency, followed by Monty, Raven, and Abbie.

She doesn’t want to interact with any of them — can hardly even keep her eyes open. Yet, they find her.

Kane begins, “Clarke how could you act directly against my orders! If you weren’t drooling out of your mouth, I would fire you right now.”

Clarke tries to speak but the words get stuck in her throat. Abbie pulls her into her arm, strokes her hair, and looks at him sternly, “Kane, please. Let me take Clarke home, get her some rest, then you can figure out your punishment later.” He nods.

As Abbie is helping Clarke from her chair, the doctor emerges from the swinging doors, and tells them, “Bellamy is somewhat stable. He is badly bruised, malnourished and dehydrated, but he is not in a critical condition. He is still unconscious, and we expect him to be so for the next few days at least.”

The unit exhales. Monty hugs Raven, and Kane smiles with relief.

_______________

Four days later, after hours of sleep, Clarke goes to visit Bellamy at the hospital.

She is weak still, but rested, and feels her body surging with energy at the prospect of seeing him.

He is asleep when she enters his room. The nurse looks up from her clipboard, “Are you Clarke? He’s been asking for you.”

Clarke smiles politely at the nurse as she leaves the room, and goes to sit at his bedside.

She reaches for his hand, the one not bandaged, and holds it, stroking his thumb with her fingers.

She remains like this for an hour, watching him lie peacefully, until he slowly opens his eyes. “Clarke?”

“Bellamy…Bellamy, I’m here.” She smiles, and sees the upper corners of his mouth twitch upwards.

“You’re alive, Bellamy.” Tentatively, she touches his face, careful not to hurt him. She traces his eyes, his nose, his mouth, his freckles with her finger. “I’ve missed these.”

“Clarke,” he says. She plays with his hair, twists it in her hands.

Bellamy is too weak to do much besides say her name over and over, squeeze her hand, and ask, “How?”

Clarke doesn’t know how to answer. Finally, she says,“How what, Bellamy?”

“Rescue.”

“How I rescued you?” He nods.

“I followed Emerson’s van which led me to you.”

“And?”

“I saw that they were about to kill you, down by the docks, and I…pulled my gun and got you out.”

“Hurt?”

“Them?”

“No, you.”

“No.” His eyes flicker to her bruised neck.

“Lie,” She shows him her neck, lifts her hair for him to see.

“Bellamy, this is it — a scrape compared to you.”

He looks angry. “Don’t compare.”

“OK. Bellamy, I won’t.” He sighs, and closes his eyes and falls back to sleep, with one last squeeze of her hand.

She wakes up next to him sometime later, as Kane marches through the hospital room.

“Nice seeing you here, Clarke.”

“Hello, Sir.”

“I came to check on Bellamy. I see he’s still resting. Umm…” Kane looks awkward, unsure — strange for a man who is so decisive.

“I also wanted to speak with you, Clarke. About what happened, I mean. The events of the night —so we can piece it together. Get a better picture. Draw to a close—” He’s rambling.

“—Sir, are you OK?”

He pauses for a moment, then says, “Clarke, knowing what I know now, I’d like to commend you on your actions that night. It was brave and foolhardy, but it saved Bellamy’s life. I’d like to thank you.”

“Oh.”

“On the matter of disobeying my orders: in your position, I (hopefully) would have done the same, therefore, there is no punishment to be handed down, Clarke. For it would be strange to punish such bravery.”

“The men I shot, sir?”

“The men in the shipyard — they survived with minor injuries. Thankfully you are good enough shot to maim, but not to kill.”

“And the one on the road?”

“Uh…He did not receive medical attention, we had no clue where he was, and by the time we found him, it was too late.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, unfortunate, but we know it was in self-defense. We saw the bruises on your neck that night. But the police would still like you to answer questions down at the station.”

“Of course.”

After a few minutes of details that Clarke finds slumber-some, he leaves.

Bellamy’s eyes open again. “Were you listening?” she asks, though she doesn’t need to hear his answer.

“Brave Clarke,” he says only.

She pauses, but knows she must tell him the words building in her head the past few weeks, as she sat alone, on watch, “Bellamy I…I missed you. I missed you every moment you were gone.” He looks at her seriously. “I thought about you constantly. And now you’re here. And all I feel for you is love. Bellamy, I love you. I have for so long.”

His eyes fills with tears — and he responds, “I love you too,” in his wavering voice.

She leans over the hospital bed, and kisses him —

—“Clarke.” The nurse enters just then and makes a loud coughing noise. “Sorry, Clarke, but you’ll have to leave now. You can come back tomorrow.”

Clarke gathers up her things and says, “Bye, Bellamy.” He smiles back at her, eyes more cloudy than before.

_______________

She arrives the next day and finds him asleep, with a young, striking woman at his bedside. Clarke feels jealous, which she has never really felt before, not even when Lexa moved on with half of Arkadia.

The young woman extends her hand, noticing her,“You must be Clarke! I’m Octavia, so nice to finally meet you.”

“You too.” Clarke shakes her hand right back — Octavia’s grip is strong. She looks like she could run a marathon and then win a boxing match right after.

“I should explain, I’m Bellamy’s sister. I live up north with my boyfriend and I don’t come to the city often — that’s probably why we’ve never met.”

“Where up north?”

“Just past the lake — its kind of a commune but not in a cult-y way. Lincoln, my boyfriend, is the head agricultural specialist and we grow food sustainably and sell it to city folk.”

“Wow. I had no idea that even existed.”

“Yeah, its pretty cool. I’m always trying to convince Bellamy to come and live up there, but for some reason, he refuses.”

Clarke laughs, “That does sound like him. Speaking of, how is he?”

“Sleeping a lot, but OK. He was awake a couple hours ago, but he’s just so weak.”

“Yeah.”

“And, Clarke, umm. I wanted to thank you from the bottom-est, deepest part of my heart, for saving his life. Like, holy fuck, I don’t know what I’d do if he died. He’s all the family I’ve got.”

Octavia reaches for a hug. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” she says.

“Well, I’m going to go out for a bit and meet Lincoln, so I entrust you with my big brother.”

Octavia leaves and Clarke goes once more to sit at his side. She holds his hand and strokes his face. He wakes slowly, and smiles at her. “Clarke.”

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“I missed you.”

“Me too.” Clarke kisses him again, longer than yesterday. He responds as much as he can.

“How are you?” he asks.

“Good. Your sister is cool.”

“They’re releasing me soon.”

Clarke sighs, “I know. The nurse told me. I’m worried about you, Bell. It just seems so sudden to be released.”

“I need to get out of the hospital.”

Bellamy is released from the hospital six days after being admitted (which Clarke still challenged with the doctor — something about insurance money running out).

Clarke drives him to her apartment, with Octavia and Lincoln in the backseat.

Bellamy seems distracted, and he fiddles with the radio — almost unsure how to be again in the world.

From the back, Octavia calls, “Turn it up! I love this song.” He does, and its an old Talking Heads song, and Octavia rolls down her windows and shouts it onto the road. Lincoln giggles, and plants an affectionate kiss on her hand. Clarke only smiles, but sees Bellamy wincing in discomfort (at his sister or his pain, she’s not entirely sure).

They help him out of the car and up the two flights of stairs to her apartment. Clarke can see him trying to mask his pain, but he valiantly makes it to 3A.

“So, Clarke, how long have you known my brother-in-law?” Lincoln asks after they’ve gotten settled on the couch with takeout.

“Lincoln, we’re not married!” Octavia shouts from the kitchen.

“We will be.”

“In your dreams!”

Clarke responds,“I started working in the organized crimes unit about three years ago. That’s when I met Bellamy. He was all swagger and seniority. Thought he knew so much.”

“Classic Bellamy,” Lincoln and Octavia say at the same time, and the three laugh.

The un-laughing Bellamy speaks up,“Well — to be fair, Clarke had never worked mob before. I had a lot to teach her.”

“Yeah yeah,” Clarke rejoins.

“But then we became partners two years ago, when Kane saw how well we worked together, and that’s really how we met.”

“I suppose it is.” He whispers to her later that it was how they fell in love.

After Lincoln and Octavia have left, Clarke is washing up dishes. Bellamy limps into the kitchen, and begins drying the cutlery. “Umm no. No work for you. You’ve just gotten out of the hospital.”

“But —“

“But what?”

“I want to be near you,” he sounds embarrassed.

“Oh Bellamy…”She reaches for him and kisses him intensely, feeling his soft mouth, his tongue. He smiles against her mouth. She leads him to the couch, with him encircled in her hands. “Clarke, I so badly want to do so many things with you, but my body…. its so tired and sore… I’m sorry.”

“Bellamy, please don’t apologize. This is not your fault.” She lies against him on the couch and kisses him gently — on his bruised ribs, his bandaged hand, his neck, his mouth.

“What are you thinking? What are you feeling? I want to know, if you want to tell me.”

“I’m thinking that why did I have to get kidnapped for us to realize we loved each other? Why couldn’t we have figured this out when I was healthy and strong?” Clarke laughs.

“Why? Because you could do lots of things with me?”

“Yes. Because I’d very much like to fuck you, and I think you feel the same.” Clarke sighs and bats her eyes at him. “And what would you do, with that healthy and strong body of yours?”

“God, Clarke, I’d rip open your shirt and kiss your breasts and lick you and make you…”

“Yeah?”

“Clarke I want you to cum.” Bellamy moves his non-injured hand to her thighs. “Will you touch yourself?” She slides her hands down to his and he guides it inside of her. They both breath heavier as they watch each other, and Clarke thrusts faster and faster on her hand.

“Oh, Bell. My Bellamy.”

She orgasms and reaches for his lips. “Oh my love,” he says.

They fall asleep against each other on the couch.

_____________________

For the next week, Bellamy begins to build his strength. He starts walking — though slowly — on his own, eats more, and the glow in his face returns. But he enters into moods where he just wants solitude — shutting her out, retreating. They last for hours or days.

Octavia’s taken to calling them at random times to check up on the them. “Clarke! How is my big brother?”

The answer varies from okay to fine to tired. But it is mostly on the incline.

One day, Octavia proposes an idea, “Clarke, we have an empty cabin in our commune. Fully equipped, barely rustic. It would be brilliant if you and Bell came and I could take care of him and you could have some rest! Please please consider it. My brother is stubborn but I have a feeling he’ll go wherever you go.”

Clarke can’t say that she hates the idea. She feels lost — unsure of how to truly help Bellamy. She can sense he’s hiding a lot from her, like he doesn’t want to show how badly he’s hurt, physically as well as emotionally.

She also feels unsafe in the city. She knows that the mob could find her at any time. Though Kane has enlisted a 24/7 security detail, it still doesn’t give her a total feeling of safety. She would like to be in the woods away from it all.

She proposes the idea to him after he’s had a relatively good day.

He’s reading a book on her bed and she’s on her laptop scrolling through tumblr, with his hand on her stomach. She shuts her laptop abruptly and asks, “Bell?

“Mmm hmm.” He doesn’t look up from his book.

“Bell?”

He snaps the cover, “You’ve got my full attention.”

“OK, I get that this might not be the most appealing idea ever, but I really want you to consider…” Clarke loses her confidence and hides her face in a pillow.

“What?” Bellamy tears off the pillow and kisses her. She gets sidetracked by his mouth, but sits up and says, “I think we should go up to Octavia’s for a while — get out of the city —“

“No.”

“You can do some recovering, she can help out (god knows she wants to help out). They have a spare cabin that we can live in, and I can help out on the farm.”

“With Octavia? And Lincoln? God help me.”

“They’re not so bad.” He groans.

“I don’t want them to fuss over me. And I know they will. And besides, they’ll irritate me.”

“Bell, everything irritates you.” He retrieves the pillow and covers her face.

“You monster, don’t smother me!” Clarke laughs from beneath it. He picks it up and kisses her again, this time, slower and steadier. She pulls him onto her, but he winces. “Clarke, let’s talk about this.” He moves and rests his head in her lap, and she fiddles with his hair.

“I’m for it, you’re against it,” Clarke says, “So now we need to meet in the middle.”

“I suppose.”

“You don’t want to go to the commune because you will receive too much care, or is it something more?”

He struggles to answer.

“I don’t know…I…well, I guess to me, I see it as a defeat, like they will know I can’t do everything on my own, or something. I’ve always been so strong for Octavia, I don’t want to give that up.”

“Oh, Bellamy. I want to validate that, but also I want to say that’s stupid. Octavia thinks nothing less of you to see you in need of help. You’re alive, and that’s all she wants. And Bell, you don’t always have to be the strong one. I know that is hard to lose when its been your place for so long, but there is power in admitting your vulnerability.”

“Ugh.”

“I know. I hate what I’m saying too, but you have to admit there is some truth to it.”

“How did you get so wise, Detective Griffin?”

“I don’t know, something about losing you.”

“I’m right here.”

Bellamy finally relents, after much back and forth, and agrees with the two conspiring women.

Octavia throws herself into preparing their cabin, and she texts them every twenty minutes with updates:

There was once a spider’s nest and now there is none. You’re welcome.

Or. I heard you liked living spaces without bunk beds, so I went ahead and removed them.

Or BAT BAT BAT.

Clarke is not sure these texts are doing anything to ease Bellamy’s doubts.

Abbie sides with the dissenting opinion, phoning Clarke too often about bear attacks, ticks, and the future. “Will you ever go back to work with Kane?”

Clarke doesn’t know how to answer, because she isn’t entirely sure. There are too many associations with that place — her body doesn’t feel ready to enter again into the obsessive, workaholic state she often occupied on the job. She senses Bellamy feels the same, that he needs time to process what happened, though they don’t often talk about it.

“Well, let me at least visit once you’re settled,” Abbie says. She can hear Kane in the background, talking to a taxi driver, arguing with him about the best route.

They get lost, but finally find a sign that reads: The 100 Food and Welfare Co-Op on a side road. She drive down the windy path, which is nothing more than a dirt road splattered with some gravel.

Clarke pulls into the main area, which includes a large vegetable garden, a large wooden structure, and a few smaller cabins. “Oh God,” is all Bellamy says.

Clarke spots Octavia talking with some wildly dressed women (one in a sunflower pant suit and the other in only overalls, no top). Noticing her car, Octavia waves madly and runs to them. “I’m so happy you’re here! Welcome! Welcome! We will have time for introductions later, but first, let me show you where you will be living.”

She directs them in her car to a cabin in the furthest reaches of the camp — it’s simply constructed, with two windows overlooking the lake, a modest porch, a stone fireplace, and a bright yellow door. “We call it Mellow Yellow, but I have a feeling Bellamy might want to change it to something less mellow.”

Clarke laughs, but he looks as serious as ever. “Thank you, O, for helping us out. I appreciate your support,” Bellamy says.

“Come on, big brother. What are sisters for? And you’re mostly helping me out, anyway. OK, so I will let you two get settled, but dinner starts at 6 and you can meet the rest of us then!”

They nod and open the yellow door.

Its gleaming inside; every surface is spotless, the wood is polished, the furniture looks rustic yet clean. It is beautiful. “Bellamy! Oh my god.”

“Its nice.”

“Nice? Ooh, look candles! And wine! She left us wine! Oh, your sister.”

“Yeah, she did a good job.”

They unload their stuff from the car — not much, just clothes, books, records, and some house plants. But it already feels like home. Clarke climbs into the freshly made bed, smelling of lilac, and Bellamy follows her. Its like that perfect moment at a new hotel, when the sheets are starched — a delicious feeling.

He wraps her in his arms, “Bellamy?”

“Yeah?”

“How is your body feeling?”

“Better. Much better.”

“Can I see?” He nods, and takes off his shirt. His bruises have turned green and yellow, but he looks almost himself again — despite the bandages on his hand and leg. “You’re beautiful.” She kisses his bruises gently.

“If I’m beautiful, what does that make you?” 

“You tell me.”

“There aren’t words.” Bellamy ducks his head and sucks on her neck, on her chest, and makes his way to her mouth, and bites her lip. “Try.”

“Goddess Divine, love, Venus, seductress, perfection, love.”

“Hmm.” She kisses his ear and his eyes and his nose.

“Clarke? I’m ready now.”

“Ready?” He doesn’t answer, instead, he takes off her shirt, slowly, and pulls off her shorts. Understanding his meaning, she unzips his jeans and undoes his belt. Bellamy acts quickly — removing all clothing until they are both naked against each other. She can feel him against her leg.

“Oh, Bell, are you sure?”

He reaches for his jean pocket and takes out a condom. “Sure.” 

He slowly moves inside her, gently. She gasps with the force of him — and he continues, growing momentum, “Oh Bell, oh love.” He goes deeper and deeper and she begins to quake. “Is this okay, Clarke?”

“Yes, yes, yes.” He continues his thrusts, until they finish, panting, breathing against each other. “Oh Bell.”

“Did you like it?”

“What do you think?” And he kisses her on the corner of her mouth.

He pulls away and looks at her, saying slowly, “How I love those lips, how I love you.”

“How I love you.”

They lie against each other, until they hear the sound of a car outside. “Oh, god, that must be Octavia.”

Instead, its Lincoln, there to collect them after they failed to show up for dinner. He knocks and they both yell, “One second!” and hurriedly get dressed and rush out of the door, and Lincoln grins at them, knowingly. “I won’t tell Octavia,” he says.

She greets them angrily at the doorway to the eating area, “You missed dinner! What could you be so busy with that—“ then she sees the sheepish look in Bellamy’s face —“Oh. okay, well, I saved some food for you, go ask Harper for it in the kitchen.”

They start to leave but Clarke turns to her and says, “Octavia, thank you for the cabin. It is so beautiful. It is perfect. Thank you.”

“I’m so happy you like it. Lincoln said I got obsessed and tried to remove me many times, but I’m glad he failed.”

Octavia shows them around the eating area, and shows them the camp rules, which involve: be kind, be mindful of others, clean up after yourself, act in peace with others.

They meet many hippies and mountain men, a strange mix of people who have devoted their lives to tending to the earth. Lincoln and Octavia seem like the natural leaders of the place, delegating in roles, giving advice — when they speak, people listen.

Bellamy and Clarke spend the evening listening to stories at the campfire. Clarke is wrapped up in Bellamy’s arms, and he whispers into her ear, “How high is that man right now?” and “How embellished is that shark story, though?”

The high man in question, they later learn, is Jasper — the camp prankster, who in the past month alone has shaved someone’s soul patch in his sleep, and stolen all of Lincoln’s shirts — to the contentment of all those attracted to his abs.

Her phone buzzes — Monty texted her, asking her how she is. She responds, Surrounded by a lot of pot, so it’s all good.

He texts back immediately. Clarke have u become a druggie?

No, just with B’s sister in the woods. U should come sometime.

Ew. The woods? The outside?

It’s actually relaxing. and I’ve already found u a bf.

Say no more, I’m on my way.

But for real tho, come! Next weeknd.

I’ll think about it.

“Are you two-timing me?” Bellamy asks. She just laughs and kisses him softly on the mouth.

“Ew, gross, Bellamy,” Octavia shouts from across the fire. His cheeks go pink and he hides behind Clarke’s back.

Clarke has always been against PDA — thinking that no one should be forced to witness a couple’s more intimate moments. But she finds it hard to resist when Bellamy’s around.

As the fire turns to embers, most start to leave for their cabins. Clarke and Bellamy walk slowly back to their, heavy with sleep.

Clarke turns off the lights, strips to a t-shirt and underwear, and Bellamy pulls of his jeans and shirt and they fall asleep instantly.

_____________

The next morning, she wakes earlier than he does and goes for a walk. A few minutes into the woods, she sees Lincoln walking towards her on the path. He smiles, and waves, and she returns his gesture.

“Up early, Clarke?”

“The birds are too loud.”

“You’ll get used to it.” Clarke doesn’t really know what to talk about with Lincoln — they haven’t really spent time together, but she’s curious. Abruptly, she asks, “How did you and O meet?”

“Hasn’t she told you?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll let her tell it.”

“Oh, Lincoln! So secretive.” He just turns and laughs.

“All I can say is that loving a Blake isn’t easy. They pick fights. They are distrustful of most people they meet. They are quick to judge. They’re closed off. And —“

“—And?”

“And they are pure and honest and smart, I love Octavia with all I’ve got, and I suspect you feel the same about Bellamy. Not loving a Blake is hard.”

They talk a bit more, with Clarke asking the questions. Clarke — ever the detective — likes to be the one asking, not answering them.

Clarke walks back to the cabin and finds Bellamy lying in bed with a dark cloud knitted above him. “What’s wrong?” she asks.

“Umm. I need to move, run, do things on my own. I feel like I have cabin fever and I’ve only been here a day.” She laughs, but he remains serious. “Cabin fever?” She walks to the edge of the bed.

“But now that you’re here, it doesn’t seem so bad.” He pulls her onto his lap, and begins to kiss her neck, suck on its nape, leave traces of himself. “Do you want to miss breakfast?” She asks, half-joking.

“Ugh, I am hungry.”

“Hungry for love?”

“No, hungry for food.”

“Bellamy! Wrong answer.” She grabs his face and makes him look into her eyes.

Frantically, she kisses him — struck by a memory of her waiting night after night in the car, never sure if he would ever return.

“Clarke? Are you OK?” She kisses him on his freckles, his nose, his chin. “Stop, Clarke.” She sits up, and starts to cry — heaving sobs, shaking in her breathe and body. “Clarke — what? Oh love. Oh come here.” He pulls her into his chest, and strokes her hair. “Bellamy?”

“Yeah?”

“You haven’t cried.” Clarke’s cries grow more intense. “Not once. I don’t know how to help…when you are so far away.” She buries her face into his hair. “I, I…went mad looking for you. I thought you died. I thought I’d never see you again. All that time,” she sobs more, “I was looking for your…your body. And when I saw you barely alive…”

Clarke can’t finish her sentence.

Bellamy holds her, stroking her hair, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

“I was trying to be strong,” he says. “I don’t want you to see, I don’t want to make it harder than it already is.”

“Oh, Bellamy, my love, you don’t need to be strong now.” She can see his face crumple slightly, but it regain composure immediately.

A little crack.

“Do you want me to tell you? What it was like? Do you really want me to relive that?”

“Not relive, heal. But only if you want to. This isn’t about me.”

“I mean, you’re making it about yourself.”

“That is not fair, not fair. How can you say that?” Clarke storms out of the bed and out of the cabin, running towards the lake.

She sits on a rock, quietly sobbing, holding her chest to her knees.

She sits that way alone for a long time.

The images of Bellamy dragged to the car, on his knees, unconscious in the passenger seat, saturate her mind. The man she shot. His face in his death. The look on her mom’s face. That night, those weeks of searching for him, the loneliness, the grief.

Her body is overtaken by the past.

She has been living in some sort of dream world — in which she and Bellamy are perfectly united, in which the traumas have dissolved like sugar in water, in which she is OK.

Clarke realizes that she can’t be in a relationship built on fantasy — on artifice. She wants reality, even if it is harder. Woken from her thoughts, she hears the sound of footsteps on the pine needles behind her.

“Clarke?” It’s Bellamy, breathing heavily. “Come back, let me tell you.”

They sit across from each other for hours on the floor in the cabin. He tells her what it was like — the constant pain, the fear of waking up, the anger he felt at her.

He tells her it reminded him of this EE Cummings poem about a dying man in the war, lying quietly in the ‘deep mud’, dreaming of his sweet old etcetera — her smile, eyes, knees, of her etcetera.

He says that this was how he felt — delirious with pain and hopelessness, he dreamt of his sweet old etcetera, Clarke. Thought of how they would argue, fight, criticize one another, but come back each morning with trust, respect, love.

How he loved her — how he thought of her eyes, her long golden hair, her dimples, of her Etcetera.

“I thought of you, Clarke. That’s why I am still alive. I wanted to live, because of you.” With that, he begins to cry quietly at first, but as Clarke makes her way to him, to hold him in her lap, he cries deeper and louder.

“You, Clarke.” She rocks him in her lap, combing through his hair with her fingers. Smoothes the tears from his face.

It is needless to say that they missed breakfast, and lunch for that matter. No one comes to retrieve them, not after Clarke texted O to give them space.

When they’ve both cried all the tears they can, Clarke says to him, “I’ve invited Monty for the weekend. I think he and Miller might hit it off. Actually, I feel like Monty would really fit in.”

“OK, let’s just brush that off like it never happened.”

“You’re right. I don’t want it to seem like we’re going back to pretending. But it might be nice to see him.”

“Yeah.”

He arrives that afternoon, luggage in hand, looking very much the image of a city boy. “Monty!” Clarke runs to him and envelops him in a smothering hug. “Hi, Clarke. Bellamy! You look so much better, like so much better. Wow.”

“I get it, thanks, Monty,” Bellamy says with a snide.

“Naw, I’m just kidding. I love you, bro.” And Monty pulls him in for a loving hug.

“I love you too, bro.

Clarke introduces Monty to the couple in charge. They receive him kindly, and Miller and Jasper saunter over, joint in hand, waving madly. “And who might this be?” Jasper gestures at Monty.

“This is the head of the Virtual Intelligence Department of Arkadia Police, otherwise known as Monty.”

“Sick, dude,” Jasper croons. Miller looks bashful in the corner.

“Oh, and Monty, this is Jasper and Miller,” Clarke says. She can see in his eyes an immediate fixation on Miller – and Jasper whisks him away to show him the grounds of the camp. 

“I guess we lost him,” Bellamy says with a laugh. 

“I guess we did. But I also guess that we have some newfound alone time. Would you please follow me back to our cabin?" 

"A thousand times, yes," he replies, as he takes her hand.


End file.
